


Long Flights & Longer Nights

by great_turkey_calamity



Series: Sharkandegg Cinematic Universe (kids) [5]
Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Alex is surprisingly level headed, Discussion of Birth, Emotional Comfort, Fluff, Gen, June/Nora if you squint, M/M, Not Beta Read, Panicked Henry, Stress, They are on a time crunch to get to the hospital, having a baby, henry is panicked, mentions of adoption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:22:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26935057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/great_turkey_calamity/pseuds/great_turkey_calamity
Summary: Alex and Henry’s surrogate goes into labor two weeks earlier than expected and planned.She is in Chicago.They are in London.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, June Claremont-Diaz/Nora Holleran
Series: Sharkandegg Cinematic Universe (kids) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1944718
Comments: 16
Kudos: 87





	Long Flights & Longer Nights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sharkandegg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkandegg/gifts).



> Okay, first of all, holy smokes this is probably the longest fic I’ve ever written and rightfully so.  
> This is the crazy birth story of @sharkandegg’s kid OC, Austin. For reference: Sophie is five and Jamie is three. Jamie is also referred to by their birth name (Dahlia) and she/her pronouns. Austin’s birth mother is both Filipina and Puerto-Rican, in case anyone was wondering.
> 
> That should pretty much do it lol, thanks for reading!!

Kensington Palace is very rarely quiet these days, especially with five children under the age of ten running through its halls.   
  


With two weeks until the newest addition to the Fox-Claremont-Diaz family is born, Henry knew that he wanted to come and visit his family. He still remembers what it was like three years ago when Dahlia was born, and when Sophia was born two years before that. He knows that neither of them will be up to attend overseas holidays or obnoxiously ornamental charity events; they’ll all be completely knackered from screaming and crying and waking up in the middle of the night on rotation to bottle feed the baby— the list goes on forever.   
  


They’ve been in London for about a week. He and Alex have taken the girls on walks through Hyde Park, re-introduced them to their cousins, and let their aunts, uncle, and grandmother spoil them all absolutely rotten. It’s been a much-needed break, honestly. Between running themselves dry with work, and the everyday struggles that come with raising two young children, he feels like he can finally breathe again.

He knows that it’s high time to shake the girls out of their habit of sleeping in bed with them— especially Sophie, at age five— but he finds it hard to tell them no. They’re far too sweet, and far too cute, to be refused anything that their precious little hearts desire. Alex has already braided Sophia’s hair for the evening, and now he’s brushing out Dahlia’s hair to get out the day’s tangles.   
  


“You’re doing such a good job, sunshine.” He tells her in a hushed voice, being sure to not disturb his eldest daughter, who’s reading Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets to Alex; he hates that Rowling still has such a captivating hold on children, but feels an absurd amount of pride in knowing that she can read so well at such a young age. Dahlia’s always been resistant when it comes to hair-brushing— her calmness tonight is definitely odd, but not at all unwelcome. He brushes out the ends a few more times, before kissing the top of her head, pulling her through the cloth headband and tucking it behind her ears. “All done! Such a good job.” He praises, kissing her cheek and giving her a gentle squeeze, which in turn makes her giggle.

“Soph, who’s your favorite character?” Alex asks, setting the nostalgic yet poorly-written chapter book on the nightstand next to him.  
  


“Prob’ly Hermione, ‘cause she's smart and keeps everyone out of trouble.” She replies, absolutely melting Henry’s heart as she snuggles up to Alex, resting her tiny head on his chest. “What about you?”

Alex hums and squints his eyes, like he has to put a stupendous amount of thought into this seemingly trivial question. 

“I really don’t know, maybe Ron. Ron’s pretty cool, right babe?” He asks, and Henry finds himself biting back a laugh.

“Ron’s definitely _cool_ , but Lupin’s more my style— you don’t meet him until book three.” He tells Sophie, and she raises her eyebrows in the most quizzical, silly way. It leaves him biting down on his lips to keep from bursting into a fit of giggles.

“Who’s Lupin?” She demands to know.

“I can’t tell you, lovie. You have to read the books to figure that out.”

“ _C’monnnn_ ,” She whines, flailing out like a starfish on the bed. She whacks Alex in the face, and promptly apologizes. “Who’s Lupin?”

“I can’t tell you! It would spoil the next book!” Henry exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air. “Oh, I’m _sorry_ , Your Majesty. I shan’t move my hands _ever again_.” He says sarcastically, going back to rubbing Dahlia’s back after she finished yanking at his arms with all the strength a three-year old could muster, her scowling, grumpy face really saying it all.

“You tired, sissy?” Alex asks, playing with Dahlia’s hair.  
  


“Yeah,” She replies, nuzzling into Henry. “It’s bedtime.”

“Maybe for _you_ ,” Alex replies, getting up to turn off the lights. “Dada, Sophie, and I are going to watch TV.”

“Can I watch, too?” She asks, and Henry snorts.

“You literally just said that it was bed time.” He reminds her.

“I wanna watch TV now.” She replies sassily, sitting up to illustrate her point. 

“Okay,” He responds, not about to start a tantrum before bed. “But you have to cuddle with me, okay?”

“ _No!_ ” She exclaims, turning her nose up into the air and crossing her arms over her chest. Henry gasps in mock horror. Alex and Sophie are laughing.

“Please?” He asks sweetly, holding her tiny hand in his own, looking up at his bratty toddler. “I’ll get sad if you don’t. Do you want me to be sad, baby?”

Dahlia shakes her head, suddenly quiet and caring and willing to cooperate. “No.” She replies, scooting back down in bed and wrapping herself around Henry, leaving a wet kiss to his cheek. 

“Thank you.” He mumbles, smiling, his arms wrapped around her in a loving, protective hold.

“You’re welcome.” She babbles in response, already sounding significantly more tired than she did just a few moments ago.

They’re about fifteen minutes into an episode of _Chill With Bob Ross_ when Henry is startled awake by his own snoring. He looks around blearily, blinking several times to truly wake himself up. Sophie and Dahlia are both asleep, and Bob is painting a lovely winter landscape. 

He peers over at Alex, who’s only half-watching, more concerned with whatever news article he’s currently reading, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. 

“Anything interesting?” He croaks, giggling tiredly when his husband jumps.

“You just scared the _fuck_ outta me,” Alex swears, chuckling and pushing his glasses back up. “Thought you were sleepin’.”

“‘M sorry. Started snoring and woke myself up.” He explains, and Alex starts laughing even harder. “‘S not funny.” He grumbles quietly, pinching Alexander on the arm.

“Ow! _Rude_.” He groans, rubbing his arm, going still when Sophie stirs against him. After a few moments, he leans down oh-so-carefully and presses a kiss to Henry’s cheek. “You should go back to sleep, sweetheart. I know you’re tired.”

“ _I’ll_ go to sleep when _you_ go to sleep, insomniac.” He teases, and Alex rolls his eyes, putting his phone on the charger and taking off his glasses. He lays down then, as cautiously as he can, laying Sophia down and curling up as close to Henry as he can get. Henry leans forward, kissing him lazily on the mouth. It’s returned just the same, and makes warmth creep through his body. 

There are no ‘ _I love you_ ’s spoken, as that much can be gathered. They lay together, content and comfortable, both drifting off in one of the few moments of peace they seem to have these days.

Alexander’s phone rings, and Henry groans pitifully.

“It’s Mona.” Alex grunts, checking the caller ID.

Henry sighs, feeling his anger lessen and his anxiety ramp up.

“Go on, then! Take the call and answer it in the restroom.” He replies, wrapping his arms around both girls, holding them close as his husband rises from the bed and shuffled off behind a closed door.

He can’t make anything out, doesn’t try to. His heart is racing, because there’s always that ‘ _what if’_ factor that manages to rear its ugly head. This pregnancy hasn’t been easy, neither for Ramona— their surrogate— or for the baby. High blood pressure, horrid fevers, excessive nausea, Braxton-Hicks; it’s been enough to drive Henry up the fucking walls. They’re in an entirely different country, he can only imagine what’s going wrong right now.   
  


Alex emerges only a few seconds later, and immediately walks over to the light switch and flips it on.

Henry panics. “Love, what’s going on?”

“Mona went into labor. She’s on her way to Prentice Women’s right now.” Alex explains, grabbing their suitcases and clothes and cramming everything inside. 

His heart drops. “She’s not due for another two weeks!” He exclaims, shushing Dahlia as she begins to fuss, letting Sophia wriggle out of his arms.

“Well, our son’s looking to make a show-stopping debut, apparently.” Alex replies, throwing clothes in Henry’s direction.

And he’s up, dressing himself haphazardly, pulling on a shirt and pair of trousers without even bothering to unbutton them. He then starts to help Alexander, packing up all of the girls’ clothing.   
  


“What’s goin’ on?” Sophie asks, letting out a fearsome yawn. “Why’s it still dark out?”

“We’re going back to America because your baby brother is being born a _lot_ sooner than we expected.” Henry explains to her, shooting a quick text to Shaan. Dahlia’s starting to cry, and he feels like he might start to as well. 

They’re all speed walking out of Kensington Palace, Alex carrying the luggage, and Henry holding onto the children. Nobody complains when they’re crammed into a car and onto the plane; Henry can barely process anything past Alexander turning the lights on. 

He’s the only one truly awake at the moment. Sophie’s draped over Alex’s lap, and Dahlia’s face is in his shoulder, her little fist grasping at his shirt. His husband’s eyes are closed, and his headphones are in, but he knows he isn’t sleeping— if anything, he’s listening to some morbid true crime podcast to help calm his nerves a bit. 

Henry can’t stop bouncing his leg or looking at his phone every other minute. The stakes were _never_ this high when the girls were born. Everything was on their terms. Now they’re on their way to Chicago at nine at night for a birth that wasn’t supposed to happen for another two weeks, and he might just scream because of the pure madness of it all. 

Just like that, he’s crying. It’s years upon years of built-up stress and exhaustion and emotion, all just washing over him at once. He doesn’t know if he’s ready for this; he’s overwhelmed and underprepared and nothing is happening according to plan and he _just—_

He’s gasping for air, completely panicking as he sobs. He tries to wipe at his tears, but they’re just smearing all over his face. His chest hurts, and he’s unbearably warm, skin pricking like pins and needles are being driven under his epidermis.

“Woah,” Alex says, pulling his headphones out and turning to face Henry, pulling him into his shoulder. “Hey, sweetheart. It’s okay,” He coos, kissing the top of his head and rubbing his back. “We’re okay. Don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.” He continues, trying to soothe his husband, but to no avail.

Henry feels a small, cold hand squish his face. He peers down through the blinding tears, and sees Dahlia looking up at him, sleepy, concerned, and all sorts of confused.

“Why’re you cryin’?” She asks, apparently deciding that it’s her turn to wipe at his dewy, sticky tears. 

Henry sighs shakily, unable to quell the involuntary gasps bubbling up inside of him. “I just need a nap.” He tells her, omitting the rest of the truth, feeling quite pathetic as his three year-old watches him cry hysterically, for seemingly no reason at all. 

“Close your eyes.” She tells him, and he decides to amuse her, closing his eyes and taking a deep, long breath. He feels her open mouth smash against his cheek, and immediately opens them again.

“What are you doing?” He asks her, voice sounding a bit raw.

“Kissing it better!” She exclaims, like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. It actually makes him laugh. 

“Well, thank you.” He replies, returning the messy kiss with a peck of his own, drawing her as close as he can have her. “I love you.” He tells her.

“I love you, too.” She replies, and he would be lying if he said that he didn’t feel a little better. 

He feels Alex’s hand in his hair, and immediately moves to rest his head on his shoulder. He shuts his eyes, sighing into the fabric of his polo shirt. 

“I know it’s a lot to handle, babe. Especially for you— we had all of this planned out to the last minute, and well, now we _don’t_ , obviously.” Alex starts, hand moving from Henry’s hair to the back of his neck. “But everything is going to be just fine. The baby’s gonna be born, and we’re gonna take him home, order takeout, and sleep for as long as we can. This is the hardest part, and we’re gonna get through it.”

“I know,” Henry whispers, his anxiety not at all alleviated by his husband’s words. “I know.” He repeats, trying to convince himself that he’ll be able to get through the rest of this plane ride without bursting into tears again. 

Alex kisses his hair, pats him on the back, and leaves him be.

He’s grateful. 

June and Nora are waiting with coffee and the overnight bag at the layover at JFK International. Henry can tell by the looks on their faces that they don’t look too good. 

“How long did you sleep for?” June asks, handing him a cold brew after he passes the girls over and looking quite concerned herself. 

“I _didn’t_.” He replies gravely, taking a long, appreciative sip after. “We’d just gotten the kids to sleep before Ramona called.” He explains. 

“That _sucks_.” Nora comments, taking the baggage from Alex and giving him the overnight bag. “Like, _really_. You should try to get some sleep on your way to Chicago. Lack of proper sleep can result in memory loss, poor coordination, and a bunch of other bad shit.” She explains.  
  


“He’s too nervous to sleep.” Alex admits on Henry’s behalf, elbowing him in the ribs. “He probably won’t crash until we get to Prentice Women’s.” He says, only half-joking.

“I mean, at this rate, probably.” Henry laughs, strained and exhausted. “I thought we had a bit more time, that’s all.”

“I really can’t imagine what that feels like.” June sympathizes, shushing Dahlia as she stirs fitfully, her grip on Sophie never wavering. 

“No, but we can definitely _see_ it.” Nora jokes, trying to lighten the mood as best as she can. “Really Henry, please try to get some sleep whenever you can. You too, Alejandro.” She orders, pointing her finger at the two of them.

After making rushed promises and well wishes and giving proper hugs, they’re boarding their flight to Chicago, where secret service agents and PPOs are already waiting for them. Henry still can’t sleep, between his nerves and the coffee he all but chugged, so he just rests his head on Alexander’s shoulder and stares out the window. Alex slips an earbud into his ear, and he’s not at all surprised to find that he’s been listening to rain sounds this whole time. He finds it embarrassing that he immediately slips under.  
  


Upon descent two and a half hours later, he somehow feels more tired than he had been before passing out. He assumes that his early-evening adrenaline rush has worn off. Alex is guiding him off the plane with a hand on the small of his back, somehow willing him to move when his limbs feel like they’re made of stone. 

As soon as they get inside the airport, they both order more coffee. Henry gets another cold brew. Alex orders his black with espresso shots. Alex also buys two Red Bulls.

“Those are awful for you, you know.” Henry pipes up as they walk out of the airport, being escorted to an inconspicuous black vehicle with tinted, bulletproof windows. Alex waits until they’re seated and moving to offer his rebuttal.

“Honestly baby,” He says, opening the energy drink. “I’ve decided, as of right now, that I’m officially done caring about whether or not things are good for me.” He declares, taking a sip of his coffee and chasing it with the Red Bull. It makes Henry cringe in horror.  
  


“You’re going to have a heart attack.” He insists, finding his husband’s approach at staying awake both appalling and concerning.

“Couldn’t possibly care less.” Alex breathes, digging around in the hospital bag they packed for the baby. “Caffeine pills?” He questions, pulling the bottle out of the bag and shaking them in Henry’s direction. 

“Sure.” Henry replies, holding out his hand as Alex starts shaking pills into his palm. “Four is definitely more than enough, thank you.” He giggles. He knocks them back, chasing them with a sip of coffee, recoiling at how bitter everything is. He starts coughing, Alex clapping him on the back.

“Baby number three,” His husband muses after finally calming him down. “Who would’ve thought we’d make it to this point?” He asks, continuing to sip at both of this open beverages. 

“I wouldn’t have,” Henry admits, resting his head on Alexander’s shoulder. “Especially not at the beginning, but here we are.” He whispers, kissing his jaw, feeling stubble scrape roughly against his dry, bitten lips. 

“Are you excited?” Alex asks, and Henry melts at the grin in his voice.

“What I feel has no word for it— I don’t think ‘ _excited_ ’ even begins to cover it, honestly.” He admits. 

“Our first boy; that’s a big stepping stone for us.” Alex says, and Henry peers at him with raised brows.

“You say that as if there will be _more_ boys in the future.” He points out.

His husband shrugs. “Definitely not anytime _soon_ , but maybe we can adopt a few more when these three grow up.”

Henry sits up properly now to look him in the eyes, placing a hand on his cheek. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

“A couple of weeks.” He admits, and he can see a red glow creeping beneath his partner’s skin.

Henry hums, trying time think of what to say. “Well, we can definitely have a long chat about this when we’re not in a time crunch.” He starts. “I love the idea of adopting more when this lot is grown, but we’ll have to talk about what that means in terms of age and abilities and such.”

“Oh, definitely,” Alex responds, slipping the bag over his shoulder as the vehicle parks in the Prentice Women’s Hospital parking lot. “Even if we’re not sure after that, we still have plenty of time.”

“Sure,” Henry breathes, slipping his hand into Alexander’s as they step out. “Let’s go find Mona.”

They find her room in the labor and delivery unit— it’s heavily guarded and sequestered off from the rest of the floor. They knock twice, only entering when given verbal consent.

The first thing Henry noticed about Ramona Guevarra, from the moment he met her seven months ago after an adoption interview, was that she had a fiery spirit. This holds true even now, sat straight up in bed, her sleek, black curls in a messy bundle, and her thick-framed glasses perched atop her head. 

“Hey guys,” She greets nonchalantly, waving at them and giving them a view of her neon green acrylics. “What’s shakin’?” She asks, inspecting them closer. “Y’all look tired.”

“We just flew ten hours to get here from London.” Alex explains with a light chuckle, and Henry notes her grimace, appreciates it immensely. They move across the room to sit her bedside.

“What about you, anything going on?” Henry asks, sagging a bit in his seat.

Mona shrugs. “I mean, not really. I’m at a dead stop at eight centimeters. They came in and broke my water earlier, so we’re moving at a snail’s pace.” She explains.

“They give you any medication yet?” Alex questions. “You get an epidural?”  
  


She laughs. “Dude, I’m on my _second_ epidural right now. First one wore off, like, an hour ago and I was _not_ having it.” She starts, launching into an animated retelling of every single thing that’s happened up until they walked through her door. Henry feels like he never missed a thing. They keep this up for quite a long time, sleeping in half-hour fits and keeping Mona company. 

Around five-fifty in the morning, doctors come to check on her, and chaos begins to swarm the delivery room. There’s panic, pain, confusion, reassurance— too much to fully document. Alex is helping Ramona keep her head up, speaking to her in Spanish, his tone both encouraging and serious. Henry has both of his hands around one of hers, and he’s squeezing with just as much force and might as she is, both of their arms shaking from the strength and pressure of it all.

On May 10th, 2028, at two after six in the morning, their son is welcomed into the world, immediately making his voice known as he cries and wails.   
  


Alex stands and goes to cut the umbilical cord.

Henry collapses back in his seat and sobs.

This horrifying storm of a night is finally over; their son is _here_ and he’s _healthy_ and he’s _crying_. His sweet little cries break Henry’s heart— they stir something deep inside of him that he didn’t even know existed.

“Shh, it’s okay.” Mona soothes, patting his leg. It makes him laugh a bit hysterically, because if anything, he should be comforting her, not the other way around. 

Alex immediately tries to hand him to Henry, but he’s having absolutely none of it.

“Mona just pushed him out of her _vagina_ , Alex, you let her hold him _first!_ ” He demands, sniffing and wiping at the corners of his eyes, head screaming in pain and arms feeling like dead weight. 

Alex laughs, passing their son to Ramona, who readjusts and sits up in bed to accommodate him.

“Wow,” She breathes, smiling down at the baby in her arms. “I _made_ this.”

“You did,” Alex replies with a smile. Henry looks over, and sees that he’s crying, too. “You did a great job, Mona.”

“Y’all need to stop crying before I start up, too.” She laughs, fanning at her eyes with one hand. “He’s so little.” She comments, making a soft ‘ _aww_ ’ noise when he yawns.

“Six pounds and five ounces,” Alex tells her. “He’s tiny.” He chuckles.

“He is.” She breathes, shifting her gaze to Henry. “Ready to hold him?”

Henry nods, holding his arms out as the baby is transferred to him, cradling his head and keeping him secure. Alex comes to stand by him, placing his hands on his shoulders and rubbing them, relieving unknown tension.

“Do you guys have a name picked out for him?“ Mona asks, and Henry hums.

“We’d decided on Theodore a few months ago, Teddy for short.” He explains. “He doesn’t really _look_ like a Theodore though, does he?” He asks, Alex, peering up at his husband and watching as he shakes his head.  
  


“He really doesn’t.” Alex admits. “What would you have named him, if you were gonna keep him?” He asks, gesturing for Ramona to respond.

  
“Nimuel. It’s a Filipino name. Means ‘ _peace_ ’.” She explains, looking closer at the baby swaddled in Henry’s arms. “I think it’d make a good middle name.”

“I think so, too.” Henry replies. “It definitely suits him. If we could just figure out a first name, that would be lovely.” He chuckles.  
  


Mona yawns. “Just don’t name him anything too white like _Christopher_ or _Thad_. I know y’all got public standards to uphold, but don’t embarrass him.” She says, and Alex laughs.  
  
  


“Don’t worry— I won’t let him go overboard.” Alex promises.  
  


She sighs, pushing up her glasses, her expression going serious. “I, uhm, I just want to thank you guys for seeing the adoption through. I know that it definitely hasn’t been an easy pregnancy, and I’ve had my fair share of skepticism, but I think that you guys are gonna be good for him. A part of me is always gonna see him as my kid, but I know I wouldn’t be a good fit for him. I’m only twenty-two; nobody’s actually ready for a kid at that age. Nobody’s ready to settle down. My ex certainly wasn’t.” She laughs, sounding sober and tired. “I know you two are going to make him happy, and that you’re gonna provide for him and keep him on the right path. I just don’t feel like I can thank y’all enough for that.” She finishes, voice dragging off into a whisper.  
  


Henry bites the insides of his lips; he’s cried far too much tonight. This isn’t his moment.   
  


“Don’t start crying!” Ramona exclaims, pointing at Henry. “Just— you’re pulling a kid out of poverty. Away from things he shouldn’t be seeing and mistakes he should never have to think of making. Y’all should be proud of yourselves. That’s all.” She says, chuckling.  
  


“I— well, we never really thought about it that way, to be honest.” Alex replies, and Henry can hear how his voice wavers. “You just put it in a whole different perspective for us.”  
  


She smiles. “Remember that— and I’m serious about the name, man. My only limitation is that I don’t want him sounding like a rich little white boy. No _Christopher_ , no _Thad_ , no _Remington_ or _Xavier_ ; none of that shit.”  
  


“How’s Austin sound?” Alex asks suddenly, and Henry turns to face him.  
  


“Austin? Like the city?” He asks, receiving a shrug in response.  
  


“Like the city, like Jane Austen— I just feel like it works for him, you know?” He explains.  
  


“Lemme see ‘em real quick.” Ramona says, and Henry passes him back over.  
  


She studies him closely, as if all the secrets of the universe lay in this infant’s calm, oddly attentive eyes.  
  


“Austin Nimuel Fox-Claremont-Diaz.” She says aloud, smiling from ear to ear. “It’s a mouthful, but it fits him perfectly.”  
  


“I couldn’t agree more.” Henry replies, finally feeling a sense of easiness wash over his entire self.  
  


“Alright, then. Austin it is.” Alex declares, accepting their son when he’s passed along.  
  
  
  
  


It doesn’t take long for Ramona to fall asleep after that, all the medication in her system intermingling with her long-awaited crash, after all the anxiety and pain. Henry’s eyes are half-open, watching Alexander hold Austin, listening as he sings him a lullaby that Oscar once sang to him when he was young.  
  


He knows that he should probably be a little more energetic; he should be texting his family and his husband’s family and Pez and posting photos on every social media platform under the damn sun. He can’t help but revel in this moment, though, as soft and pure as it is. Austin reaches up and wraps his hand around Alex’s index finger. He feels his heart flutter in his chest.  
  


It’s just like that, watching his husband sing to their baby, that he finds the soothing shroud of sleep, resting at last.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr: @bi-disaster-fsotus  
> @sharkandegg’s tumblr: @handsomeroyalheretic


End file.
